A is for …

Firstly, I would like to thank those who leave comments here. They mean a lot to me. I don’t have the bandwidth to acknowledge them individually, but know that they matter.

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The Irishman here has turned out to be a real wanker. He asked me what I thought of South Americans. “I don’t think anything.” He burst into a smile and high-fived me. “I don’t like them either.” That’s not what I meant, you numb-burger.

At a little after 8:30 a van swung into the driveway of our hostel to take us to the Abel Tasman Aqua Taxi in Marahau, about half an hour from here, at the edge of Abel Tasman National Park. We were looking forward to getting our morning coffees at the café before our hike, but, as is our wont, found it closed for the winter. We were inconsolable, until the owner took pity. He grabbed a bottle of milk from the little store’s fridge and opened up the café just long enough to make us each a flat white—and didn’t even charge us. That’s Kiwi hospitality.

In all my 59 years on Planet Earth I have never ridden a boat down a highway, until today. About a dozen of us climbed a metal ramp into the back of a speedboat and strapped on our life vests. Then a Ford tractor towed us along the road, drove us down onto the beach and right into the bay, and released us to the windswept waves.

Marahau (this town, remember) means windy garden. Garden refers to all the shellfish at low tide. Windy alludes to days like today, with gusts up to 65 kilometers per hour.

The idea of the water taxi is that it dumps you off at a distant starting point for your hike, and then retrieves you at your trail’s end.

Our plan today was to get dropped off at Torrent Bay and tramp our way to Bark Bay. I suppose if you got a New York City cabbie and stuck him on the water, he’d drive like our captain. We blasted across the rough water, slapping hard down into the troughs and nosing skyward at the crests. There were shrieks and white knuckles, as good as any amusement park ride. We rode by a water-bound pile of rocks crowned by a giant ball of granite split in half and open like a—well, like a split apple, and I’ll bet you can guess what it’s called. Split Apple Rock is commonly seen in collections of New Zealand photographs and in guidebooks.

Our captain gave us a little background of Abel Tasman park. Way back, the forest crept right up to the edge of the shore, but settlers chopped it down. The trees that remained inshore, they burned, to clear the land for farming. That bombed, since sandy clay sucks for crops. One farmer did succeed in planting a bunch of apple trees, and I’ll bet you can guess what his bay is called.

As I’ve told you, New Zealand has been invaded by myriad nonnative species of animal. That’s also true of vegetation. There’s a type of pine tree that’s taken over here and is choking out the local plants. So with help from funds from the New Zealand lottery, a massive project is underway to eradicate these “wilding pines.” Close to the trail, the trees are cut down. Further into the forest, they’re poisoned with “lethal injection.” It takes about a year for the tree to die, and another decade for it to topple. They’re hoping to clear Abel Tasman of all these destructive pines over the next years, so the native jungle can thrive.

Our trail began on the beach and climbed immediately into the forest of palms and ferns and moss.

There’s one tree that’s thin, tall, rough-barked and bare except for a pompom of small leaves at the very top, like a groomed poodle’s tail. When the wind blows, which it was doing violently, the trunks bump into each other, sounding like the rubbing and tapping together of a hundred wooden flutes.

Now and then the vegetation cleared out to reveal a view of whitecaps on green turquoise water, with the occasional tiny, isolated, tree-beribboned island in the distance.

There were lots of little footbridges across streams, and a bouncy suspension bridge over Falls River.

Though the forecast for today had been “fine” and sunny, there was a heavy overcast and a bite in the stormy wind, but no rain, so we had no troubles in our nine-ish kilometer walk. We got to Bark Bay well ahead of the water taxi, and sheltered in the very nice national park “hut” where through travelers camp along the way. Next to it was a building that wasn’t so nice, but I thought it was beautiful, in a decrepit sort of way.

Our ride back, with a certain Sean at the wheel, was even wilder than our incoming trip, and on some waves I did a little posting motion to keep my spine from slamming into the metal seat. It was fun.

This is Sean and me. He should have proposed to me, but uttered nary a word.

A van driver returned us to our hostel, on the way pointing out apple and kiwi fruit orchards. I never would have recognized the apple trees. Like everything else here (even the moon, that goes from a C shape to full, instead of from a D shape), they are backwards. They look like they’ve been hung upside-down, with the fruit on low branches with a trunk above.

After dumping our hiking stuff in our hostel, we walked a couple kilometers into town for dinner at a Thai restaurant, where I had chicken satay and samosas, for your information. We learned that, in this part of New Zealand, it’s best to have a supply of food in your car in case weather or closed stores and restaurants keep you from proper meals, so I bought cookies, candy and a few healthy things.